The Dragon and the Girl, Book 2
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Middle School Grade Fantasy
Date Published: November 14, 2023
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
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Dire news arrives from Cantington. Rumors of dragon sightings are stirring
up fears based on old stories that depict dragons as blood-thirsty,
fire-breathing monsters. To protect his people, the Overking decrees that
all dragons must die.  Â
Twelve-year-old Eliana knows the truth about dragons. After all, her best
friend, Winston, is one! Fresh off an adventure where she saved her kingdom
using her ability to communicate with Winston’s family, she is now
excited to hone her skills through her Dragon Speaker apprenticeship. That
is until she begins having a recurring nightmare of a scar-faced soldier, a
poison-tipped spear, and an orb that glows in the dark. What’s even
more worrisome is that Winston is having the same nightmare.
When they hear of the Overking’s decree, they realize their dreams
may not be a coincidence. Eliana must quickly learn how to use her ability
to understand dragons to help new friends–and old–solve a
mystery about an ancient treasure and save the dragons from certain death.
Along the way, there are lessons to be learned about the dangerous desire
for fame, about the transitory nature of plans, and about how treasure can
mean different things to different people…and dragons.
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EXCERPT
The tip of the spear was mere inches from Eliana’s eye. A drop of poisonous liquid hung there, and in it she saw her own reflection. She tried to scream, to beg for mercy, to somehow stop Margred’s soldier from what she was about to do. Eliana’s cry clawed at her throat, but it was soundless, useless. In the soldier’s other hand was an orb, a glowing round stone that cast light on the soldier’s smile, a terrifying smile made crooked by the scar running the length of her face.
Someone grabbed Eliana’s shoulder. Shook it.
“Eliana.”
A barely audible whisper. Why could she hear her name carried on a breath but not her own screams?Â
“Eliana.”
The hand on her shoulder was heavy and warm. And tugged gently on her quilt. Quilt? Why would her quilt be here in the Morgan Castle courtyard in the midst of the battle? She opened her eyes to the dim light of the sleeping room. Her father pulled on the quilt again.
“I know it’s early,” he said. “But Winston is here already. He’s out by the chicken coop.”
Winston. Chicken coop. Eliana felt like she was pulling herself from a murky bog, her dream fading. Yet another of the dreams that had started the night Winston flew her home from Morgan Castle.
Contrary to her nightmares, Eliana knew all was well now. King Halwyn’s horrible counselor Margred and the remainder of her soldiers were gone—had sailed north up the Pearl River. Everyone she’d poisoned had recovered, thanks to Cook’s special tea. Morgan Castle’s treasure had all been found, right where Margred had hidden it. Now King Halwyn could pay the annual tribute to the Overking of Canting at the Banquet on June the sixth, just three days away.
Eliana pushed tangled brown curls out of her eyes and tried to smile at her father. If all were well, why did she keep dreaming about the scar-faced soldier and her poison-tipped spear? And a cavern with a huge dark shape that would never move again?
Eliana slid out of her bed, careful not to wake her older sister Alethia. Her father wrapped a shawl around Eliana’s shoulders and held the sleeping curtain open for her. In the kitchen, Father’s teacup—one of the four Dragon Cups—was on the wooden table, along with a slab of brown bread.
Cadoc pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. He unhooked the water pot from the rod above the stove, poured the simmering water over the tea leaves in the cup, and slid it to her waiting hands.
“Same dreams?” he whispered, turning to hang the pot back on the rod.
She nodded and wrapped her hands around the cup with its intricate blue designs. The steam from the tea wafted up. It smelled like citrus.
“Have a little,” said her father. “And eat. Then you can go see why Winston is here so early.”
Eliana nodded again and took a few sips of the tea. It seemed to chase away at least some of the nightmare remnants.
“The nightmares . . . it’s your mind trying to understand what happened,” said Cadoc. “Even though everything turned out well in the end, what happened was . . . was what no child should have to experience.” He handed her the bread.
Eliana heard sadness mixed with frustration in his voice. Now he could no longer leave for work at the quarry every day assuming his family would be safe at home, doing the things they’d always done. A dragon was at this very moment dozing in their yard. And his daughter was a Dragon Speaker. Had flown on a dragon hundreds of feet above ocean waves barely covering boulders at the foot of the Dead Rise Cliffs. Had been in the middle of a battle with an evil woman and her spear-wielding soldiers, one of whom Eliana kept seeing in her dreams.
Delicate yellow light from the window fell on her father’s face and on the lines that hadn’t been there before. He stood, careful not to scrape the chair legs on the slate floor. He slung his leather tool satchel over his shoulder and took his coat off the hook by the front door.
He smiled. “I’ll go out this way so I don’t disturb Winston. He seemed tired, too.”
Winston. Her new friend, the young dragon with amazing turquoise and emerald green scales and feathers. Winston, who she could understand when she touched him.
498 words
Winston crouched in Eliana’s yard, holding his blocky head as still as possible so as not to disturb the rooster who stood precariously balanced between his ears. Eliana’s father had said his name was Henry the Fifth when he’d unlatched the door to the coop. Gray and white and clearly in charge, he still reminded Winston of his father.
After all the hens had erupted into the yard to begin their morning forage, the rooster had tipped his head to examine Winston with one shiny black eye. Then, without warning, Henry the Fifth had lifted his stubby wings and flapped his way to his current perch on Winston’s head. Clearly, the rooster no longer viewed Winston as a threat.
Now, the rooster shifted his weight, dug his claws into Winston’s scales, and emitted his loud, raspy call. Ererghh errrr eregrerrh errrrr!
The hens ignored him, but Winston’s sensitive ears rang from the assault. Inch by inch, careful not to unbalance the rooster, Winston used his powerful neck muscles to lay his head on the ground by the Fallonds’ garden. With one more awful call, Henry the Fifth made his way slowly down the length of Winston’s snout and hopped off.
Winston watched the rooster strut to the edge of the garden. The rising sun warmed the dragon’s scales. A slight breeze danced in the tufts of turquoise and emerald feathers on his neck.
I’ll just rest a little until Eliana comes out, he thought. His eyelids drifted upward. Soon, puffs of steam emerged from his nostrils, warming the air around his head. One of the chickens came and took a dust bath in the dirt beside his right nostril.
“Opal!”
Winston jerked from his doze at the sound of Eliana’s laugh. He raised his head to greet her, but instead began sneezing. And sneezing. Eliana scooped up the fluffy white hen and put her several feet away from him.
“I think she got dust in your . . . nose? Your . . . nostril? Whatever you call it. What do you call that?” She put her hand on his sun-struck scales so she could understand him.
“My nostril,” he said, attempting to sound more dignified than he felt. He sneezed once more, this time spraying the air with droplets of water mixed with dirt. Eliana backed away, obviously trying not to laugh again.
“Uummmhh mmm muhhhh . . .” Winston began.
Eliana reached to touch him again.
“It’s not really funny, Eliana . . . well, maybe a little bit funny,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Winston,” she said. “Just warn me next time you’re going to sneeze. I don’t want mud on my dress when we meet Doryu at Morgan Castle.”
Morgan Castle.
Winston’s scales rippled and his tail tightened around his body. He’d thought the nightmares only came at night when he slept. But here, this morning, even in Eliana’s sun-brightened clearing, the sights and smells and sounds of what had happened at Morgan Castle returned.
About the Author
Laura Findley Evans is the author of True North, Book 1 of The Dragon and
the Girl series. It all started when her grandchildren said one night (when
they were supposed to be sleeping), “Tell us a story.” And so
the adventures of a feisty young girl and an impossible dragon began. Laura
would like you to know that whatever she writes must be true, whether it is
real or not. She hopes you will discover the truth in whatever she writes.
When she’s not writing, Laura reads (a lot), cooks (mostly) healthy
dinners, and spends time with people she loves. You can visit her at
www.LauraFindleyEvans.com.
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